Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters from their respective series. I'll put them back on the shelf when I'm done.

Word Count: 8,978

Warnings: Possible triggers for loss/bereavement.

Thanks so much to all the people who reviewed, fave'd, and followed. I'm glad you guys enjoy this-it's all for you guys. :)

Enjoy!

Chapter 13: Road of farewell.

Lights blinded her and she threw up her hands. Clary screamed as the car screeched, smoke from the burning rubber surrounding her. Her knees scrapped against asphalt, warm blood pooling beneath her. She burned. The grill of the car hissed in her ear, the metal grazing her cheek. Her limbs shook, shivering in the heat of the car. Car doors slammed. Shouts came to her ears.

"Oh my God, are you ok?"

"I didn't see you-just came out of nowhere!"

"Ah, I think you're hurt. Are you hurt?"

"Stay there, we'll take you to a hospital."

Clary shook her head, pulling herself up. Her palms flared in protest as she scraped herself off of the pavement and bolted. Out of the corner of her eye, lay Maellartach. She picked it up and gripped it tight. She ignored their shouts, stumbling off and into the trees. Inside the semi-dense foliage of trees, her vision adjusted and calmed. Her face felt swollen, as if burned. Clary put her hands to her face, prodding her cheeks and eyes. She suppressed a cry as their puffiness was tender against her fingers. Clary smacked into a tree. Its leaves shuddered and fluttered to the ground. For a moment, the red color looked like blood. Clary flinched.

She ran all the way through to the parking lot of the hospital. Her legs turned to rubber. Clary took a side entrance, door slamming behind her and the wind pushed her forward. Her boots squeaked on the tiles, mud tracking all over the sterile tiles. She tripped taking the stairs. Her mother's room was map in her mind. She raced to it. Sweat made her hand slippery and it took a few tries to get its door open.

"Mom-"

Empty. The world shorted out for a moment. Her bed was empty. Blankets pressed and folded neatly as if she had never been there at all. Her breath came out in short pants. A rattling wheeze from her chest. Clary's hands shook and she shot her hands out to the bed's railing. Maellartach clattered onto the linoleum with an impressive ringing that shattered her ears. Her arms buckled and she hung, slightly suspended as her torso sagged as her arms strained and her knees bent. Sweat poured into her eyes and she blinked heavily, but it just made her eyes sting even more. Clary retched.

She took a deep breath through her nose and her body subsided. Shakily, she stood up and searched the room. Her mother never had any personal effects during her stay, so it didn't surprise her to see it bare now. She checked for a clipboard at the foot of the bed and found none. She stayed a few minutes longing, finding nothing. Clary grabbed the sword and left and shut the door behind her.

At the front desk there was only one girl. It must have been a slow day; nurses walked as opposed to the brisk strides that were par for the course. Clary slammed into the desk, making the girl jump. Her eyes widened behind her glasses as she took in Clary's appearance. Her mouth opened and closed.

"C-can I help you?"

"Jocelyn Fray. Where is she?"

"E-excuse me?"

"Jocelyn Fray. Where. Is. She?"

"I…I sorry-excuse me."

"Look, she's a patient here. She's supposed to be here-"

She adjusted her glasses. "Just give me a moment please."

She tapped her fingers and Clary saw them unadorned, save for a single promise ring. Her heart clenched. The girl looked fairly frazzled herself, as if she had been on shift for far too long. Dark circles emphasized by the lens from her glasses. Her chapped lips mumbled as she read the information on her computer screen. She gave Clary a small look. Clary couldn't decipher it with the strange calm that was humming through her. Clary didn't care. The girl glanced back to her, lowering her eyelids. Clary shuddered.

"I-I'm sorry, but there…there seems to be some kind of mistake-"

"What?"

"There-doesn't…it's not…"

"Check again."

"I-but-I-"

"Check. Again."

She sighed, torn between irritation and pity. She swallowed convulsively. She signaled for a nurse. One in crisp blue scrubs turned the corner. A circular mirror planted above revealed the overhead profile of the nurse. She looked up and Clary got a clear look at her face. The woman's eyes flashed black.

"Run!"

Ithuriel's voice shrieked inside of her mind. She didn't need to be told twice. Clary bolted. Ignoring the sudden shouts behind her as she blasted past the other nurses and raced out of the front doors. They made an echoing clang as if to decry her presence.

SPNTMI

Luke's house was quiet. She banged on the door. His truck was in the driveway and she struggled to remember if it was there before she left for Idris. She shouted Luke's name in time with her pounding fists. There was no answer. Clary upended a flower pot to get at the spare key beneath it. It wasn't there and it took her a moment to realize that the locks were broken. The door gave no resistance.

Familiar furniture greeted her instead of Luke. Unwashed dishes were still in the sink, plates stacked in order. The crud from old food collected along the rims of the dishes and floated in the small pool of water beneath them. The table hadn't been cleared either. Books were still haphazardly strewn all about the kitchen and living room; there were more upstairs. She picked up a dog eared Isaac Asimov paperback, fingering the bent edges before setting it back down.

A fine layer of dust coated all the wood and Clary ran her fingers through it. Dust stuck to her fingers and she wiped the filmy-ness on the ripped dress. She went up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Her guest-bedroom was the same way as she left it as she didn't go in it. She went to Luke's room, knocking on the door out of habit. His bed was made, pillows lumpy. There was a glass of water and glasses on the nightstand. Rummaging through his closet, she found boxes and hangers. Her mother's paintings lay in a haphazard stack. She frowned. Clary took out the paintings. Most of them were landscapes. When she first saw these, they were just fantasy places but now she knew they were places in Idris. Clary stared at them until her eyes burned and she carefully put them back one by one. She could find nothing else. Clary went out of the house and shut the door behind her.

SPNTMI

She went to the pack's police station. There was no one except for some bugs. The refrigerator hummed and when she looked inside, old take out containers held food that was starting to go bad. Clary shut the door and called out. She yelled, her voice echoing down the halls back to her. She didn't stay for long.

SPNTMI

Clary ran all the way to Simon's house. She stumbled the entire way. When she got there, she reeled in shock. All over the house were Hebraic scripts and symbols. Clary could only recognize a few from what Simon had shown her. Scrawled with a jagged hand on the doorknob was the seal of Solomon. Something cold and heavy vibrated in Clary's chest and it took her a few minutes to stop from staring. The car was in the driveway. The old four door Volkswagen was spray-painted just like the house and was parked at such an extreme angle that it nearly rested on the steps of the house. Clary peered inside. The doors weren't even locked and the keys were resting on the passenger seat.

Clary ran her fingers through her hair, grimacing at the sensation. She turned back to the house and the feeling in her chest increased. She willed herself to walk up to the door. She gave a few rapid raps but there was no reply. She knocked again.

"Simon? Are you home? The car's in the driveway…"

A crash from the hallway made her jump. Clary knocked again. Louder this time. A muffled thump. Someone running into the stand next to the coat rack.

"Simon? Simon-"

"Go away!"

"…Mrs. Lewis?"

"Get back demon!"

"What? Mrs. Lewis, what are-"

"Go back where you came from!"

"Mrs. Lewis, it's me, it's Clary Fray. I'm looking for Simon."

"He's in Hell."

"…What?"

There was a slam from behind the door and Clary jumped. A metallic sliding sound as the bolt slid back. The door opened a fraction and Clary flinched back. Mrs. Lewis's eyes were hollow and sunken from behind the lock chain. Her eyes darted, pupils dilated.

"He is in Hell."

"What?"

"Simon is in hell and a demon has taken his place."

"…Like he's possessed?"

"I saw his teeth."

"I-teeth?"

"Yes. Yes his teeth, he-" she choked. "Yes yes his teeth. Run, just leave. Yes, leave and don't come back."

She slammed the door shut.

"Mrs. Lewis-"

"Go away!"

Clary traced the seal of Solomon; the crudeness of the carving surprised her. It had to have been done with a simple kitchen knife. The bumpiness reminded her of wax and she had to pull herself away. Clary moved backwards, tripping over her ankles before whirling around and racing to the next place.

SPNTMI

Magnus's loft was empty, the Hunter's Moon bar was closed, the hotel room that Sam and Dean stayed at had been rented out, and the Dumort deserted. Even Pandemonium was empty. Clary spent the rest of the day hopping around the subway from place to place. She couldn't find anyone. It was as if everyone had disappeared off the face of the earth. She got to the Institute late in the night.

Clary walked to it, the place looking new to her eyes. As with Simon's house, the Institute had various sigils scrawled all over the walls. Like the doorknobs of Simon's house, Clary ran her hands all over the Institute's doors. She yanked on the handle. It took her a moment to remember that she needed to announce herself, but when she opened her mouth, the door gave and opened.

"What the-"

Clary tugged hard, hands shaking and she squeezed inside. The door slammed shut, propelling her forward. Clary went back up to the lift. She hung onto the gate's grille, the metal piercing her fingers. Rivets of blood congealed into the screws and she sagged. Her boots kicked out at the grate. When the lift opened, she had to stumble her way out.

Clary called out a litany of names and with each mantra, it became louder until she shrieked. She scraped her throat with the grievous sound. Clary cut off her cries, choking. She hacked up a globful of blood. Clary raced through the rooms, visions of what could have been replacing the empty halls. She kept seeing herself beside the Lightwoods and Jace. Getting her first marks, training, wearing the black gear. She would have known her grandmother, known all the shops in Alicante, and never got to fight side by side with her mother. They'd never put on gear or talk about boys. They'd never do anything together again. Her lips, already slick with blood opened so she could retch. Clary didn't care if she was even in the middle of the living room, trying to puke on the Oriental rug.

Her palms slapped the table; it was cold against her sweaty hands. Silverware jiggled. Clary picked up a knife, seeing herself in its shine. She threw it as hard as she could into a glass cabinet. It shattered and on each shard was a piece of her life.

She climbed onto the table, limbs heavy. Dishes collapsed past her feet, slicing into her calves. Fragments of them bounced back up to the balls of her feet. Clary leaned back, abs and legs aching. A candlestick touched her spine, warm wax clinging to the back of her neck. She shivered. Clary felt pliant and stiff at the same time as she tried to move. Her hands grasped at the cabinets, examining the china.

Feeling listless and strange, like whatever tenuous connections she had to human beings was lost. There was no one to shake her awake as screams wracked her body. Almost like a conscious seizure with no way to make it stop. Too much for too long. These rooms were too full of what could have been. She couldn't walk in them anymore, so she curled up into a ball and screamed.

Ithuriel felt small, cramped inside of her, probably overwhelmed. She would be too, but the wildness in her soul wouldn't let her be. Almost against her will, she went about, smashing things. Watching as they tumbled to pieces and ignored how it hurt her hands and feet.

All she could see was what happened-and what might have happened. Like magic, she could see the life she was supposed to have. A life of scars and killing-and Jace. Jace Jace Jace. The world splintered apart. A voice in the back of her mind, similar to Jace's-as if he had come back from the dead. She turned to see his face, feel his touch. Lingering and hungry, only to have the vision fade.

An anguish that was frightening in its intensity. Pain and fear were something that needed to be wrenched out of you. Like vomit and leaves your soul spilled in chunks on the ground. It doesn't matter whose it is anymore-just a wild crazy grief. Dive headfirst into it-like sex, like making love. She carried on like this for three days before a buzzing overtook her. Clary recognized Ithuriel's presence. A lullaby humming in her ears, someone stroking her hair. She trembled. Exhausted, she fell asleep and began to dream again for what felt like the first time in a century.

She was in a garden, flowers blooming all around. Dragonflies hummed in the air, in time with the shimmering heat. They alighted on her fingers. Her flesh was vivid-bright and heavy and alive. Ivy climbed along columns of weathered stone. A small pool of water gurgled as lily pads floated upon it. Someone sat on rock beside it. At first, she thought she was staring at herself, but then they turned. Red hair burned in the light. It was brighter than hers or her mother's.

'…Ithuriel?'

She just smiled and it filled her up. Clary watched her get up. She was beautiful, like the edges of sunlight. Her build was lithe, with the beginnings of muscles, and big eyes that carried hope like water in her hands. Smooth limbs and hands that never knew blood. Her hair fell to her waist. Walking over, she stroked Clary's cheek. There was something playful in her smile-

Clary woke up. Something soft hummed in her chest. A nice muteness that kept her awake. She sat up, her clothes stiff on her skin. Clary unlaced and kicked off her boots. She walked to the library. Her ripped stockings padded over the familiar mosaic of the Angel rising out of the lake. A lake that probably no longer existed. She lifted a book off the shelf at random. 'Practical practices for the discerning Nephilim.' She leafed through it, stopping at a random place and began to read.

'When all Nephilim are born, they are taken to the Silent Brothers to have a ritual preformed. This process is a complicated one and not fully understood by individuals not within the sect. As such it is necessary to protect the child from evil. Without it, he or she would be susceptible to all manner of evil, particularly possession-'

Clary flipped to another page.

'-Age of twelve is the best time for a young Nephilim to receive their first marks, preferably the Voyance Rune. Rings with the Nephilim's family crest are then given to the individual. It is also an ideal age to choose a parabatai-'

Clary skimmed over to a later section in the book, when a paragraph caught her eye.

'Gold is the preferred color for weddings. The groom and his fellows should aspire to wear the proper formal dress. No rings are exchanged between parties, but rather runes, one on the arm and the other upon the heart. Passages from Songs of Solomon are the most popular.'

Clary shut the book and replaced it with a heavy book from a higher part of the shelf. She nearly dropped it when it came down unsupported from the shelf. The thick no nonsense title popped out to greet her eyes. 'Nephilim and Law' she opened it, the table of contents was long and she started with an earlier section.

'In Victorian times those mundanes who had the Sight were employed as servants by Shadowhunters and usually had families of their own and were kept within the generations of said family.'

Clary moved down to a couple of pages later.

'-When a shadowhunter leaves the Clave, he or she automatically renounces all ties that come with the Clave, there are three rules. 1) Said individual is not permitted to return or seek help in any manner. 2) Said individual cannot speak with, or communicate to or with their family in any way or vice versa. 3) If said individual has children, the Clave can lay claim on them and take custody as seen fit. As such-'

Clary switched to a different chapter.

'An individual shadowhunter who lives outside of Idris can choose to earn money within the mundane society. However a portion of it must be tithed to the Clave. It is much like the 'spoils'. Spoils is a term describing the property of any given offending downworlder whose property has been seized by an arresting shadowhunter. This practice can lead to the rare occurrences of homicide of downworlders for their property. It is one of the reasons that the Accords is so controversial-'

Clary frowned, skipping down several pages. She read on until she had skimmed through most of the book before putting it back on the shelf. She stayed within her little section. At some point she moved on to another room. The kitchen still seemed lived in. With a stocked fridge and shined cutlery, she handled the knives. The training area was as spacious as she remembered, weapons rack out of the way, and the mats stacked against the wall. She didn't stay for long, heading up to a different floor. A room that was tucked away beside the library.

Items were held in glass cases. Their shine made her think of rare gems in high class jewelry stores. Clary only stared for a moment or two at each case. Ceremonial knives-they certainly looked fancy enough-lay on velvet. Calices, short spears, and old crests blazed up at her. What really caught her eyes were a pair of slim gold rings. They had no real adornment, just a simple band of gold. Clary stared at them some more, fingering the chain that held the Morgenstern ring.

A few days later, Ithuriel prodded her awake. Clary sat up, nearly hitting her head on the kitchen table. She rubbed her eyes.

"What is it?"

She didn't get a spoken reply, but rather an image. Maellartach flashed in her eyelids, its outstretched wings burning. Like a wavering radio signal, the image became less distinct as if being pulled away by something. The image was replaced by a sense of urgency. Clary tugged herself out from under the table, tumbling on the linoleum. Clary found the sword lying in the foyer. When she held it in her hands, Ithuriel shuddered, making Clary's shoulders ache. Walking back into the kitchen, her feet had a slight echo and she shivered at the sound. She held the sword and slid back down onto the ground.

"All right all right."

She projected a sense of calm for Ithuriel. A responding wave of peace came back to her. Clary leaned back. The table's leg was uncomfortable on her back, but she didn't shift her weight at all, instead talking aloud to Ithuriel.

"Ok, I'm assuming a few things for now. One, your batteries are running pretty low if you're having trouble talking. Two, we need to find out what's going on with Maellartach because…because Idris is gone, but…worst case scenario, the devil is still out there-and we're got the only weapon that can actually hurt him. So…it's time to leave."

A wave of rightness overcame her and she nodded without realizing it. She sat up, shakily at first, gripping the table behind her with both hands. She kept nodding as she did so. The world came into sharper focus, like she had to adjust the picture for clarity. Colors returned to their normal brightness. The edges of things became sharper. Clary rubbed the crust out of her eyes. She took another look around the room before she looked down at herself.

Clary was filthy. The Idrisian dress ripped all over and what fabric was still there was covered in gritty sand, water, blood, mud, and other guck she really didn't want to know. The fabric was brittle and in some places disintegrated at her touch. Her stockings ripped, one had broken free from its garter and sagged down to the knee. At the feet, the bottoms were absolutely covered in grime; she had even tracked some of it onto the floor. The flower petal from her bodice was gone, a hole where it used to be winked up at her. Her chest ached from having a poorly laced bodice. It struggled to adjust to her breathing, as only part of it was tight. The loose ribbon cords sagged as the rest of it tried to pick up the slack.

The green cloak that Luke gave her was caked in mud, blood splattering the broach, rusting along the clasp. The hood hanging by a thread, ready to fall. Its green dulled to threadbare fuzz. She lifted one of the arms and gave a sniff. She pulled back with a wince. Examining some strands of hair, its grease rubbed off on her fingers. Clary shuddered. Her hair curled into ropes in some places. Bits of twig and dirt woven in. She stripped right then and there, walking naked through the halls to the bathroom. She found one of the guest bathrooms for visiting shadowhunters. Clary then moved from bathroom to bathroom, gathering shampoo and body wash from each of them. She had found the towels, but didn't want to touch them, when her hands left a filmy imprint on everything she touched.

It took her about three washes to get rid of the filth. She stepped out of the tub, to rinse out the tub before stepping back in. The water weighted down her hair, yanking her neck with its excess. She tried to untangle it with her fingers, bits of debris falling out. Growling, she grabbed a pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet. She crouched down, taking hair by the fistful and cutting. Red locks fell to the floor, tub's edge, and some floated on the water. She cut until there was only air that she sliced through. Tossing the scissors to the floor, she dunked her head under the faucet. Clary scrubbed her body raw, until she was shiny and pink.

She cleaned Maellartach as well, grit and grime slid off the surface of the blade as she worked to give it a shine. She nicked her fingers, tiny droplets of blood splashed into the tub. She wiped the sword down and set it down.

Clary drew up to her knees, hugging her frame until the sense of urgency came upon her again and she turned off the water, leaving it in the tub as she stood out. Dripping wet, she left the bathroom and grabbed a couple of towels. Drying herself off, she hunted for clothes. Clary debated with herself when she found Isabelle's room. The only other women clothes were Maryse's and they didn't fit her in the slightest. She couldn't bear taking from Alec or Jace. Clary rifled through Isabelle's drawers. The less girly the clothes the better. She found a purple flannel shirt with blue accents, dark skinny jeans and black boots. She found a form fitting leather jacket. Clary snagged a couple of daggers, placing them in a duffle bag. She stuffed clothes, some weapons, and a picture of Jace, Alec, and Isabelle. A calendar on the wall showed the date. Two weeks had passed. She had already spent enough time here as it was. Clary flipped the calendar to its appropriate page.

Clary grabbed the bag, stuffing Maellartach inside it and headed back down to the lift, and then walking down the church isle, pews identical as she headed down. Out on the street, she turned to give one last look at the Institute. Clary sighed, sharp breeze attacking her ears and cheeks. No cars hung around the street. An image of an Impala flashed in her mind, Simon's voice filling her head.

'Yeah, follow that black 67' Impala.'

Clary stiffened, frowning. She answered, not caring if anyone should happen to cross paths while she spoke out loud.

"Yeah. Yeah, it isn't here. So you're saying-" she sucked in a breath. "Ok. Ok, but this isn't gonna be easy."

Clary took the subway and headed down to Luke's. It was the same as when she last saw it, but she went inside again to grab the keys to the truck. She raced up the stairs, grabbed a new sketch pad. Clary looked for some of her own clothes and cards. The emergency wallet was in Luke's room. It only took her a few moments and she raced back outside to the truck.

She hoped inside, letting out a shaky breath. Clary went through the steps in her head. First check the mirrors, and then fasten the seat belt. Look in the glove compartment for necessary things. Put the keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life and Clary eased her way out of the driveway.

"Where to?"

SPNTMI

The upstate countryside was beautiful as the leaves were still in mid fall, burning red and orange. She took the route that they had often taken to get to Luke's farm. She frowned and ignored the turn-off that lead that way. She swung down to a scenic lane, the foliage bright against her windshield. Clary turned on the radio and Janis Ian's 'At 17' crooned in a husky voice. She found herself humming in time to it, chest wistful as the lyrics settled into her.

'Annie's Song' sung its ballad straight into Clary's senses as she swung down and took a wrong turn. The cars were going by too fast, and they honked in her wake. Clary jumped. She tried to change lanes, but kept getting cut off. Clary shouted when a small sports car jumped ahead of her. She finally managed to pull over. She stared up at the big green signs overhead. Her hazard lights flashed as she debated with herself. Clary shook her hands and wiping the sweat on her jeans. She flicked her turn signal on and pressed the pedal too hard.

Cars blared their horns as she sped into the farthest lane, almost diagonal in the way she didn't stop. She took the I95, trying to stay on it and sometimes getting pushed off onto a smaller highway road. She was still going in the right direction, as the urgent tugs were positive in tone. As long as she followed the Long Island Sound and kept it within her sights she knew she was fine.

SPNTMI

It was deep at night when she past the sign for West Warwick, Connecticut. Cars had just started to die down, the roads now dominated by trucks. Clary kept a distance with herself and those semi's. The moon was high in the sky when Clearance Clearwater Revival's 'Bad Moon Rising' filtered through her speakers and she shivered. It was like the music turned to smoke, trapped inside her windows. A heady dangerous song that should be played with extreme caution, but the voice was so good that she couldn't resist.

She finally stopped for gas at a small little run down station. The lights dim at the pumps and she fingered the handle of her knife as she filled up the tank. Clary paid as quickly as she could and got onto a dusty back road. Eric Clapton's 'Layla' kept her company as her passenger seat was illuminated by streetlamps. Clary didn't stop at a hotel; she just kept driving right on through.

It was about two days later and the sun was high when she got to the outskirts of Boston. Traffic clogged the roads and Clary rubbed her eyes. Supertramp's 'Give a little bit' was the only thing keeping her awake. When she finally got a free lane, she took it, not caring where it led to. She finally found an overpass; she spiraled down it and took a turn-off. Over-passes reigned supreme here, they made complex designs to her eyes. Clary got herself beneath them, turning past a chain link fence and going off the road. Graffiti was over every inch of workable surface, bright, intricate designs. Despite the loud traffic coming from all sides, she couldn't see a single person. She parked behind a column that served as a base for one of the overpasses. Clary shut off the engine, hid her money, and kept her knife close. She was asleep within minutes.

SPNTMI

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was enough for the urgent tug to wake her up. Clary turned her radio on only after she pulled back onto the road. Traffic assaulted her on all sides as Harry Chapin's 'Cat's Cradle' came on her speakers. Getting back to the freeway took a couple of hours with the clogged roads and unfamiliar streets. Again, she took the nearest exit and only later realized that she hadn't taken I95. Clary slapped her steering wheel, but the signs for it were the ones she couldn't find.

Ithuriel was still pointing her in the right direction, as the Massachusetts Bay peeked out to her vantage point. A small sign winked past her, informing her that she was on road 1A. She snorted.

"Thanks, that's really helpful."

Crosby Stills and Nash sung back at her as 'Teach your children' filled her car. She found herself nodding along to it, humming as she turned to keep on the same road. Leaves began to light up as if they were on fire when the sun finally began to set. Clary noticed an exit sign, her number appearing and she fiddled with her break so she could get off. The road twisted and she found herself on a single lane back road. Dense woods came up thick on either side of her and she squinted as the sun's rays flashed in her eyes. There was nothing for miles and her tank was starting to run low. Clary caught herself mumbling, 'please, please' as she looked for a sign.

The road took a sharp left and Clary turned the steering wheel hard. A church came into view. A white cross towering at the top of the highest point. A bell rang faintly from somewhere. Clary peered up at it from her windshield.

"Huh."

She pulled into its parking lot. There were a couple of cars still there. A rusty Honda and a newer looking Lexus, purple paint peeling in some places. Clary parked next to it and stepped outside. The cooling air crisp against her skin after days in a car. The entire church was painted white, she could see no sign, so she must have parked in the back, but there were a small set of stairs beside a wheelchair ramp and she took them. The paint cracked and peeled beneath her boots. Clary knocked. There was no answer. She pressed her face against the window, knocking again. She jiggled the handle, blinking fast when the door opened with ease. Sticking her head in, she called out.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

No answer.

"Is anyone here?" Clary turned her head back and forth. From her vantage point she couldn't see very well. "I-I'm coming in."

Clary walked inside, shutting the door behind her. She padded down the carpeted wood, muffled creaks coming out as her boots tread beneath it. The hallway was dim, the light from a faraway window streamed down a corner. She passed a closed door and followed the light. Around the corner, it led her to the main room. Row after row of pews were illuminated by the self-same soft and streaming light. Glass stained windows on either side of the pews. She stared up at them. She couldn't place all of the characters, but she could recognize that one of them was at least Michael. Sword in hand as he pinned a demonic looking man beneath his heel. Even in simple stained glass he was beautiful. Although now her perspective on angels had changed; she tried to picture a stained glass version of Cas with his trench coat and giggled.

There was a huff of sound and Clary turned back to see that only one person was sitting in the pews. She hadn't looked up at Clary, so she wasn't sure if she had disturbed the woman. Clary kept quiet, thinking back on the Institute's church, but somehow she enjoyed this one better. It felt more lived in. The wood from the pews worn and smooth, the books in the benches dog-eared, with creased corners despite the embossed letters winking up at her.

"Excuse me, but mass has already ended-"

Clary yelped, whirling around to see a middle aged man dressed in black. A small bar of white at his neck helped her realize who this was. He held up his hands with a sheepish smile. The beginnings of crow's feet gave his face a friendly air.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you there." He said.

"Sorry. I didn't know you were, uh, closed. I just-I'm…lost."

He regarded her with sad brown eyes. His hands went down to his sides, almost as if he debated bringing them to her shoulders. He smiled with a soft ease. For a moment, Clary wondered just how many people came to see him; she felt calmer already.

"Oh my child, we all are."

Clary inhaled sharply, flushing as she fiddled with her hands.

"A-ah no, I mean-I-I can't find the interstate."

His face fell and Clary continued on, voice high and babbling.

"I-I'm from out of town and I don't have a map, and and-I took a wrong turn and the high-high way and got t-turned around. I-I'm really sorry. I'm- I mean, no offense, but yeah…if you could just…"

A bark of laughter from behind her made Clary jump. She turned to see the woman sitting in the pew had thrown back her head and laughed with gusto. Clary flushed harder. She waved a ringed hand.

"Sorry sorry. Father Rogers here is just jumps the gun sometimes."

Father Rogers rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling at the assessment.

"Yeah, that's pretty accurate." He turned to Clary. "Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. The roads around here are pretty confusing. I get turned around myself. You said you don't have a map?"

"Yeah. I thought I did, but I rushed out of the house pretty fast."

Father Rogers tapped his chin. "Hmm I think I've got one in the desk somewhere…I know it's gotta be around here somewhere."

"I'll do you one better," the woman said. "I can take you to where it is. I go by there on my way here."

The woman unwound herself from the bench and walked over. She had thick, black hair. Her sunglasses were dark, almost plastic-y. Her leather jacket was also darker than hers, white lines running down the sleeves. Her shift beneath it was surprisingly lacy-a creamy pastel color. A leather corded belt held a silver belt buckle, decorated with a wolf howling at a crescent moon. Deep blue denim decorated with studs in a swirling pattern. They hugged her frame, curves generous and at ease within her clothes. Work boots clunked as she made her way to stand next to the father. Clary noticed she wore a pentagram at her throat.

"R-really?" at the woman's easy nod, Clary smiled. "Thanks so much, I really haven't got a clue."

"Don't worry about it." Father Rogers said.

The woman extended her hand and Clary took it. She had a vigorous grip. Her bracelets were thick, studded and black while her other wrist had slim gold bands with roses patterned on them.

"I'm Peggy Black and this peculiar father is Jim Rogers."

"Clary Fray. Nice to meet you."

Peggy smiled and Clary felt an unusual prickling ease at the older woman's frankness. She reminded Clary of one of Jocelyn's art friends.

"Clary. That's an unusual name. Is it short for something?"

"Clarissa."

"Nice."

Clary smiled. Peggy dropped her hand. The sun continued to set, now lower in the sky, as it illuminated only Michael's feet in his window. Peggy started, giving a little laugh.

"Oh, right. Guess I better take you now. Father's got a night mass on Friday, so he's probably eager to start prepping."

Father Rogers shrugged. "My work's never done. Especially around this time of year." He winked.

Peggy threw back and laughed, slapping her knee. Clary tilted her head, but received no explanation. Peggy's laughter petered out.

"He's such a trip. Well, we better get a move on before it gets too dark, am I right?" she winked back at him. To Clary she said, "C'om on, I'm parked out back."

SPNTMI

Following Peggy was easier than she thought it would be. The purple Lexus had matching purple lights running underneath the car and it worked like a flashlight for Clary. After stopping for gas-Clary couldn't believe that she missed the station-they went down the 1A road, turning off to go down another one lane road that led to a town. Clary frowned.

The streets still bustled, but shops were closing up. Peggy led Clary through what she assumed was the main part of town. They passed several kitschy looking shops, modeled after colonial times some of them. Clary's frown deepened; she saw no signs for the highway and it seemed like Peggy was leading her deeper into town. However, she felt nothing from Ithuriel's end, so she kept following Peggy. They turned a corner, parking next to a shop. It's wooden sign unrolled like a scroll, reading: 'Which Witches' Corner'.

Peggy parked and Clary took the spot right behind her. Peggy got out and went to her. Clary unbuckled her seat belt, but made no move to get out. When Peggy was close enough to see that, she held up her hands.

"Don't worry, just thought you'd like a place to crash. Seeing as you look about ready to fall over."

Clary's stomach growled and Peggy laughed.

"That too. So come inside. Tell you what, if it's not a good vibe for you, I'll give you a map and let you be on your way."

"…Alright."

Clary slid out of the truck, hauling her duffle bag over her shoulder. Peggy smiled.

"Atta girl."

Peggy unlocked the shop and gestured for Clary to go first. Peggy closed the door and switched on the lights. A shop that looked bigger that it appeared on the outside. Shelves of books covered one side. Candles were everywhere, all in different colors. She could smell the incense burning from somewhere. Jars and vials competed for space. Posters of musicians adorned the walls beside the occasional mask. A large reprint of a Georgia O'Keefe stood behind the register. Clary was led to a set of stairs to what turned out to be the apartment above the shop. It was small and warm. A couch with a futon beneath it rested on the wall. A flat screen on its opposing side, DVD's and CD's in a messy stack beside it. Books piled in little clusters were everywhere. A beaded curtain divided the living room from the kitchen. The kitchen was cozy, with painted wallpaper. Sketchy figures danced in long dresses against scenes that may have been recognizable only to Peggy.

A small circular wooden table was in the center as Peggy bustled around, pulling out dishes from the shelves and setting them down.

"Need any help?"

"Sure, if you want."

Warm movement made Clary look down to see a cat rubbing at her ankles. A three legged calico mewed back at her and Clary crooned back to it. It followed her into the kitchen as Peggy began pulling out food.

"Steak ok?"

"Sure."

When it was already and they sat down to eat, Clary felt more at ease.

"Thanks. You didn't have to do all this."

"Sure I did. You looked pretty helpless."

Clary laughed. "I did?"

"Yeah." Peggy said. "You said you hadn't got a clue, right?"

Her eyes tilted up. Clary held back her start of surprise. She hadn't noticed it until now, but Peggy's eyes were orange. She didn't know how, but the light made them shine as if backlit. Peggy caught her staring.

"They freak you out?"

"Not really." Clary paused. "Kinda par the course for me right now."

"Yeah, I can believe that."

Clary pursed her lips. "Huh? Sorry…but huh?"

Peggy smiled. "It's all good, I get that a lot." She cut a piece of her steak. "It's just that you've still got a ways to go. That's why I'm letting you crash here and not under an overpass."

Clary started and then nodded. "Again thanks. I've never done that before."

Peggy refilled her glass. "Well I have. Not as fun after the first couple of times."

"The first couple?"

She laughed. "Well, I say that but…"

SPNTMI

Sunlight filtered through a gauzy curtain to her eyelids as Clary woke up. The adjusted herself on the pullout couch and found the cat curled up next to her. Clary smiled, scratching the cat's ears. It purred, stretching and Clary arched her back, eyes drawn to the wall. A dream catcher had been placed at the head of the couch. She grinned at it.

Peggy was up before her, directing her to the shower as she stood by the stove. When Clary got out, plates were already covered with food and Peggy was ripping out pages from an atlas and taping them together. Her tongue poked out of the side of her lips as she tried to line the pages up just right.

"You didn't have to do that." Clary said, as she took a seat.

Peggy shrugged. "Sure I did. I don't really use this thing anyway." She grabbed a sharpie and began to mark the map. "Here, you can take the 1A to Ipswich, follow that road to Newburyport and swing down I95 and just keep to that road. Though, you can go a different way if you want." She made a few more lines. "There you are."

Clary grabbed a refill of coffee. She looked down at the map. "Oh, so we're in Salem."

Peggy burst out laughing, nearly sliding out of her chair. Her cat pawed at her knee and Peggy waved her away. Clary grinned, rubbing the back of her neck. She got up, clearing away their plates. When she sat back down, she played with the Morgenstern ring. Peggy eyed her playing with it, but said nothing. Her gaze appeared far away. Without warning she grabbed Clary's hand and inspected it with thin fingers. She said nothing and Clary knew better than to interrupt. A steadily building quiet made her sit up straighter. Peggy's nails tapped along the lines in Clary's palms. Peggy's lips were moving, either trembling or speaking to herself, Clary had no idea. Her orange eyes were focused on what she was staring at. Her hands moved all the way down Clary's wrists as her hands were being turned every which way. After a moment, Peggy set her hands down and got up from the table, face flashing an expression of grimness.

"I have something for that."

Clary didn't have to move, Peggy came back rather quickly. She sat back down and set something down on the table. Clary leaned down to inspect it. A chunk of tiger's eye was set in the center of an hourglass. Instead of a bottle of sand, this chunk of stone rested against the thick gold. The top and bottom bases of the hourglass kept the tiger's eye firmly in place. Clary squinted to see that the gold had wrapped itself at the two points in the stone, cinching it and keeping it still. The crossing lings of the main body of the hourglass didn't obstruct the stone from sight, wrapping around it with a subtle ease. The tiger's eye itself was bright and smooth, with no jagged edges or blemish. It had an unusual egg shape to it and was of decent mid-size. At the top of the hourglass a loop for a chain rested. Instead a brown cord was used. A small clasp was at the end of it. Clary looked to Peggy before touching it. It was leather, soft and sturdy.

Clary held it up to the light. For some reason, she wanted to cry. Its shine was pleasant on her eyes. Peggy watched her, lips twitching.

"You don't have to necessarily wear it, but you must keep it close to your person at all times. Just hang onto it until its true owner comes to pick it up."

"Thank you." Clary breathed.

Peggy gave a jerky nod.

SPNTMI

After being been seen off with a thermos of coffee and her map, Clary set off. The truck felt different now as the lyrics unobtrusively permeated the air.

'Where there is now one, there will be two…'

She hummed along with it, turning onto the I95, tires swinging as she fought to get into the next lane.

'Learn to pretend there is more than love that matters.'

The I95 faded away and Clary turned her head from side to side, but no sign for it could be seen. It took her a moment to realize that she must have taken a wrong turn before but she wasn't sure now. She pulled over and closed her eyes. Ithuriel gave her another tug, strong enough that she could have sworn she could have seen her shirt move. Eyes still shut; she pointed her fingers, the tugs most insistent when she pointed in one direction. She opened her eyes to see her finger pointed east. Clary nodded.

"Right."

She swung back onto the road, taking an exit to another room. The sun began to set as she changed the station. Voices came through it, music distorted as it tried to come through the static. She frowned. Signs came to her now as shapes as the sun swung lower in the sky. Her headlights flashed and she caught a glimpse of the words 'private road'. Clary headed down it, unable to find a place to turn. Forest surrounded her, tiny wire fences barely contained the wild that they tried to hold back. The one lane road twisted, and Clary's radio shorted into static.

A fork in the road and the tugging inside her got her to turn left. A little dip in the fences meant they worked around a giant tree they couldn't put behind the wire. She parked next to it, turning off the engines and lights. With no real way to see, her eyes took a moment to adjust. Clary rolled down the windows, letting in the crisp air and hearing the dying insects cry out.

She moved into the backseat, keeping her knife in her hands just in case. Clary relaxed her shoulders, boots hitting against the car doors. Clary curled herself up, letting her breathing slow to listen to the tree's leaves having a slow whirl across her tires. She gave a gusty sigh as she closed her eyes and kept them closed till the morning.

Even with sunlight being filtered through the trees, her eyelids still burned and Clary rubbed them open. Uncurling herself and climbing back to the front seat, she fumbled for the keys. She rubbed the crust out of her eyes and checked the map. Peggy's scribbles didn't extend that far. Clary grabbed the thermos grateful despite the coldness of the coffee inside it. She was on the road within moments.

That very same road led her past the woods, their foliage bright against a calm blue sky. Clouds streaked across a shade of blue Clary was sure she hadn't seen before. Her stomach growled and she wasn't too sure how much time had passed. Clary kept down the same road, trying not get to too distracted by the scenery. A quick yank and she turned on a gravel road. The vibrations from the gravel rattled her steering wheel and she kept a firm grip on it.

For about an hour on the road, she could see no signs, until another fifteen minutes in to see an old-time wooden sign and she slowed down to get a better look. It read, 'Baxter State Park' in elegant green script. Clary hummed along to herself and found a smoother one lane road a few miles up.

SPNTMI

She finally stopped at a place called Clayton Lake. The tugs kept telling her to go forward, but she pulled over and took out the map. Her fingers tapped the paper as she murmured to herself. It was written in small letters, only white and a few blue squiggles. Her index finger pulled itself, almost like an Ouija board. It trembled as it kept its course and pushed past thick black lines that serves as boundaries.

"Canada?" she exhaled. "How am I supposed to get in there?"

Clary removed her hand from the map and rummaged through the glove compartment, her pockets, and her duffle bag. Her shoulders slumped; she had no passport. Clary started to drive again, looking for a road that could take her into Canada without a toll booth or border patrol, but she shook her head.

"Obviously that isn't going to work…I mean I could do this all day and never get anywhere." She chewed her lip. "Maybe….maybe…" She took a shaky breath. "Ok…just gotta find a way to break into another country and not get arrested. No pressure."

Clary retraced her steps, but didn't quite turn back; instead she drove off the road. Her tires bounced on the ground, the grass brown and covered with frost in some patches. She found a place to park, beneath a cluster of trees and shrubs. It was enough to hide the truck. She set an alarm for her phone and slept.

A loud buzzing woke her up from dreams she couldn't remember and she sat up. Clary didn't turn her lights or radio on, instead, driving completely in the dark. She rolled down her windows, hearing only wind and cars going by in the distance. She followed their lights, trying to keep the sound of her engine quiet by staying slow. She wasn't sure how long it took her, but she had edged enough to the border that she could see the lights of it in the distance, bright and cold. Parking in the dark, she slid out of the cab and skirted to the shadows as she tried to get closer. The station reminded her of gas pumps as people waited in line for an officer to check them through. Their uniforms were crisp even from her distance.

Clary watched for a few more minutes, watching the way the lights played. They left nothing unilluminated. A fence on both sides further complicated the issue. Clary ducked when it looked like an officer headed her way. Clary scuttled away. She walked all the way back to the car. Her hands shook as she tried to open the door. Small puffs of air came out of her mouth as she huffed and clambered back in the car. Finding a flashlight under the seat, she clicked it on, trying to find anything that could help her.

"Stele…stele stele, where are you?"

Clary upended the cab for it, eventually finding it in her jacket pocket. Her shoulders slumped and she felt her eyelids flutter as her body ached. She frowned at the accumulation of aches and pains. She started to drift off, hand holding her stele began to loosen. Her head tilted, neck cracking as it tried to bend against the headrest. Another sharp jerk from Ithuriel and she flinched awake. The sense of urgency was now coupled with confusion and alarm. Something was shifting, moving inside-Clary stiffened, now very awake.

"The …ok it's moving?!"

A sense of rightness came with a quick yank.

"Yeah moving. Ok, moving, ok."

Clary turned the wheel to hard, nearly sliding in a circle. She struggled to reverse and pulled back away from the trees. Turning on her brights she found the road, and sped down it. She tapped the steering wheel.

"C'om on c'om on c'om on."

Like magic-shapes darted out in front of her, lights throwing up contrast in the dark. She slammed on the brakes. Tire screeched, rubber reeking as the car halted. Two men stopped in front of her, one holding his hands up, crouching as the other stood stock still. Clary leaned over the steering wheel, heart caught in her throat.

"…What?"

SPNTMI

TBC…